


Wine

by Trash_tzar



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Swearing, trash!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 04:51:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8149696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash_tzar/pseuds/Trash_tzar
Summary: Richard and Alex have a lot of pent up guilt and frustration. They start to maybe work it out over a glass (or bottle) of wine.





	

**Author's Note:**

> AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA THIS IS SUPER SELF INDULGENT. Also I've never written them before so this is terrible but here it is sorry

Richard Strand couldn’t exactly remember how Alex Reagan made her way to his kitchen. It’s midnight, and they’ve done nothing but dig and dig through anything, everything, that could explain what’s happening around them all day. Somehow, they ended up here, a glass of wine in Richard’s hand, Alex sitting on the island across from him, taking swigs from a bottle. Her alcohol tolerance was either surprisingly high for someone so small, or she wasn’t actually drinking.

  
“For someone who’s convinced she’s started the end of the world, you’re surprisingly sober.” He prodded, taking a sip from his glass.

  
“I hate wine.” She muttered, swishing the bottle. “Have I ever mentioned that?"

  
“No, I don’t believe so.” He responded with not a small amount of guilt. How long had they been working together, how much had they been through, and he didn’t really know the first thing about her? He remembered meeting her for the first time perfectly, however. Extremely bright, persistent, bouncing off the walls in her excitement. She was only a year or so younger than him, but there was a youthfulness to her, untouched by the bitterness Richard had always known. The contrast between her and Coralee was… Complete. He and Coralee had always been so similar, immersed in darker worlds than they cared to share, invested mostly in themselves. Alex was so open, softer than he had believed possible at their age. It almost physically hurt to watch her grow colder with every new lead in this damned investigation.

  
“It’s not your fault you know.” She interrupted his thoughts, suddenly gentle, as if reading guilt written across his face.

  
“What isn’t?” He feigned ignorance.

  
“That you don’t know me. And this whole…” She waved her free hand, as if reaching for a word that could accurately describe the mess they were in. “this whole… Clusterfuck."

  
He laughed, despite himself. He hadn’t done more than chuckle since Coralee’s disappearance, but here he was. Real, uncontrollable laughter. He couldn’t tell if it was the wine, or the unexpected vulgarity, or how tired he was, or just how apt the description was, but for the first time in years he was laughing. Somehow he wasn’t surprised that it had been Alex that had coaxed it out of him.

  
“Stop it, Richard, I’m serious.” She tried to scold, interrupted by her own giggling. Richard never used the word ‘cute’, but he was finding it difficult to describe the way Alex hid her laugh behind her hand as anything else.

  
“You have a nice laugh, though.” She continued, wrestling her laughter under control. “I wouldn’t mind hearing it more often.”

  
“I guess you’ll just have to work harder at it, then.” He joked lightly, lifting his glass to take a sip. He pretended not to notice her eyes follow the rim of the glass to his mouth.

  
“God, you’re such a jerk!” She griped playfully. He grinned into his wine. “But I mean what I said earlier. It’s not your fault.”

  
Suddenly the happy, glowing bubble they had been living in together for the last minute popped, leaving Richard to fall into the familiar pit in his stomach. It was his fault. He should have shut her down before she had a chance to get involved, should have dragged her out before she had a chance to pull them in deeper than either of them were ready for. He should’ve, but he couldn’t. There was something intoxicating about Alex Reagan, he decided in his current half asleep, half drunken state. Something that made him want to follow her, trust her, let her back in every time he drove her out.

  
“Richard.” She snapped. He must have made the face she was always bugging him about, the one that she apparently found far too sad to bear. She suddenly reached across the gap between them and pulled him against the island by his shirt collar, her knees suddenly on either side of his waist. It would have been uncomfortably intimate if it hadn’t felt like their entire relationship had been spiraling to this moment. He shifted nervously in her grip.

  
“It. Is not. Your fault.” She growled, her mouth a breath away from his. Maybe she was a little tipsier than he thought. This forceful, confident Alex was not one he saw often. “I am not your responsibility. I make my own decisions.” Should he want to kiss her this badly? Absolutely not.

  
“Alex, you don’t understand.” He pleaded, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “If anything happened to you-” he heard her sigh in exasperation before she yanked his shirt collar again, planting her mouth forcefully onto his. Instinctively, his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. She immediately softened under his touch, one arm snaking around his neck, the other up into his hair. He could taste alcohol on her breath, but not enough to convince him she was completely wine-motivated. Her mouth moved against his like she had been waiting for this since she met him, and the more he kissed her the more he was sure he had been.

  
She pulled away from him gently, breathing heavy. She rested her forehead against his, eyes still closed, mouth still slightly open. He watched her breath, silent and lovely, and thought that maybe it was futile to even try to separate himself from her. If the world was going to hell, he might as well brave it with a woman who decides to walk it with him.


End file.
